


Case 123: The Adventure Of The Triple Secret (1895)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [157]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Clothing Kink, Cock Rings, Collars, Destiel - Freeform, Dildos, F/M, Family, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gay Sex, Harnesses, Illegitimacy, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Multi, Police, Secrets, Trains, Underwear, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 05:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17298287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Someone helped once before by the dynamic duo requests their aid again – and it is not only secrets that will out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm4ever81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm4ever81/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

One of the many questions asked of us in the torrent of letters about my cases that poured into Baker Street during and after our time there concerned the fact that many of the people John and I helped came into our lives but once and were then never seen again. There were several reasons for this, one of which was that multiple cases made it more likely that someone might be hurt in some way by the publication of theirs or even a related case. In his extended canons of our adventures while we were retired my beloved remedied that somewhat by showing some such cases, but there were still some cases that had to be withheld. I am therefore recording this rather amusing little tale in the hope that it may see the light of day years hence.

Our readers will recall that on a number of occasions John and I helped our friend Henriksen's superior Mr. Fraser Macdonald who by this time had retired to his native Cumberland along with his lover Mr. Chatton Smith, the latter recently having made sergeant in the local constabulary up there. We would have further dealings with them both men but it came as a surprise that cold January day when Sergeant Smith himself called in at Baker Street. Or rather, what was left of Sergeant Smith called in at Baker Street.

“We are pleased to see you, of course”, I smiled. “I take it that Mr. Macdonald is well?”

The young fellow lowered himself very carefully onto the couch, sighing thankfully once he was down.

“We took the night sleeper to London because I had to bring down some evidence in a case”, he said, covering a yawn. “I did not get much sleep, if any. Seriously, whatever happened to the theory that stamina declines with age?”

John barely suppressed a snigger, and I glared warningly at him. Sergeant Smith had filled out a little from the wiry young fellow he had been when we had first encountered him, but his huge lover would still have made two of him. 

“Yet something is wrong”, I hazarded, “or you would not feel the need to call in on us. And without him.”

“He is in his meeting”, Sergeant Smith said, “so I am spared That for a while.”

I bit back a smile. I knew full well from certain letters that I had exchanged with the former inspector concerning a certain catalogue for a certain shop not far away from here that our guest's lover had implanted one of those personalized dildos – complete with leather strapping, shaped like one's lover's cock and even engraved with their initials; as I once said everything was available in London for a price! - but did not remark on the fact. It was, I suppose, partly my fault that our guest was in such poor shape, although he looked better than John had the last time that I had used ours on him. Besides, Sergeant Smith would soon be discovering that going downstairs while wearing such a thing was a lot 'harder' than going up. He would be crying by the time he reached the ground floor. John certainly had been, and that had been before the short cab ride to Paddington Station (or as he called it, 'the journey into hell').

“But yes, something is wrong”, our visitor sighed. “I do not think that Fray knows I am aware of it but he is keeping something from me.”

“Not that much from you by the look of things!” John snarked. He really was terrible at times. Our visitor blushed, shifted on the couch and let out a small whine before continuing. I did not smirk. 

Much.

“About a month ago Tom, our postman, said that he had had a letter for Fray”, our visitor said, recovering although his eyes were now watering. “He remarked on it because it had been badly addressed and had come from Peebles in southern Scotland; he has an aunt who lives near there. I did not think anything of it at the time but Fray has been even more.... demanding ever since it came. And I know that he has gone to that town at least once without telling me why.”

“He is obviously not seeing someone else”, I said dismissively, “as he is far too righteous for such a thing. Has he any family in the area?”

Sergeant Smith shook his head.

“His only brother, Alex's father Andrew, lives up in Sutherland now”, he said, “and his two cousins both emigrated to either Australia or New Zealand years back. He gets Christmas cards from them all, that is it.”

“I can make inquiries to confirm all that”, I said. “It is probably nothing. The poor fellow has suffered enough slings and arrows in his own life without adding to them.”

“There is something else”, Sergeant Smith said looking worried. “One of the boys at my station mentioned that he had seen Fray down in Maryport, some miles south of where we live, yet he never said anything to me that evening. And he had not been alone. He had been with three very handsome young men – and they had been coming out of a molly-house!”

“I still cannot believe he would do such a thing”, I said. “In my line of business I have a good understanding of human nature and he loves you far too much to stray.”

“We are returning on the night sleeper this evening”, Sergeant Smith sighed. “I had better go back to our hotel and hope that Fray's meeting is a long one.”

“Like something else of his!” sniggered someone nearby. I looked sharply at him and he gulped.

“I shall be off”, Sergeant Smith smiled. “I have a long, hard day ahead of me – as I think you do too, doctor!”

He rose carefully with only one more small cry, thanked us, walked carefully to the door and was gone to face the unwitting torture of the stairs. I turned back to John and grinned evilly.

“I think”, I said slowly, “that it is time for.... The Harness!”

That whine was so damn satisfying!

֍

Sergeant Chatton Smith was not the only man in London to be totally wrecked by his lover's demands. After having dispatched a couple of telegrams, one of which was of course to the ineffable Miss Charlotta Bradbury, I had taken John to our room and then taken John. Three times.

And then applied The Harness (complete with collar).

And the vibrating cock-ring.

And my own personalized and engraved dildo (one has to support local businesses, after all).

And then made him dress again and sit in our room writing, while I enjoyed every little whine each time he moved. 

I was so bad! But at least he benefited from my other telegram, which was to order in from his favourite pie-shop! What was left of him was so grateful that he graciously allowed me some of that manly embracing thing that I liked and that he graciously tolerated. I even refrained from smirking.

Mostly refrained.

Come on; I _thought_ about refraining. That still counts!

֍

Miss Bradbury came through for me with her usual speed and I had an answer to my inquiry that evening.

“The inspector cannot be seeing someone else, surely?” John said, as incredulous as me as to such a likelihood.

“Not exactly”, I said mysteriously. “I think we shall have to follow him and Sergeant Smith to Cumberland to sort this matter out.”

He nodded, then his eyes widened. He had just realized.... a very bumpy cab-ride to Euston Station in his condition. He whined in terror.

“Indeed”, I grinned darkly. “I do hope that I can find a way to keep myself..... entertained.”

He shuddered most deliciously.

“When we go _tomorrow_ evening”, I added.

The sigh of relief was loud indeed. I smiled knowingly. I had Plans for that journey that would ensure his relief was short-lived.

֍

Two days later we alighted from the night sleeper at Carlisle Citadel Station. Well, when I say _we_ alighted I really mean that I alighted and John limped off after me and then sat complaining about damnably hard station benches for some ten minutes before he managed to traverse the several miles (about six yards) across the platform to the Maryport and Carlisle Railway train to Aspatria whither we had gone in the Slipshod Woman case some nine years back. I did not remind John of that gap, nor did I as he later claimed 'strut'. 

In the highly unlikely event that I did, I had just cause!

Poor John napped for most of the journey and was more or less recovered by the time we reached Aspatria and hired a carriage for our trip to Allonby on the coast. It would have been good if we could have met the gentlemen whose attendance was required sooner but unfortunately one of them had a dental appointment that morning so they could not join us until later. I checked us into the oversized hotel where John immediately collapsed untidily onto the bed.

“Sergeant Smith is off today”, I told him, “so we are meeting him late this morning. I do not suppose you feel up to.....”

He gave me such a look! Grinning ( _not_ smirking) I carefully undid his shirt and was still not smirking when I opened his trousers and found him already hard, his cock straining against the cock-ring. I worked him even harder until he was ready, then unclipped the ring.

“Come!” I said quietly.

And he did, arching his back and erupting mightily with a keening wail until he was spent. I fetched a cloth to wipe him down then set the alarm for a couple of hours' time. A nap would be beneficial to him, or at least his chances of standing for any length of time.

“And cut with the smirking!” he grumbled.

“I shall think about it”, I promised. “And you... can think about the journey home!”

He shuddered, but was asleep in barely a minute.

֍

We duly woke at a quarter to eleven and after some very careful application of our cooling unguent (which fortunately I had just happened to have had in my pocket) John was able to make it downstairs only complaining slightly as to our room being so high up on the first floor. There was a small restaurant a little way along from the hotel so we went there for a late breakfast, and I noted the waitress giving us a dewy-eyed look as John instinctively forked over half his bacon to me. He clearly caught her and turned to glare at her, then yelped in pain.

Still not smirking. And contrary to what a certain writer later claimed, it was not possible to strut while seated.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

We proceeded to Mr. Macdonald's house, a fair-sized property on the seafront near which three gentlemen were waiting for us. As I had expected they were almost identical to each other, all tall muscular red-haired fellows of about twenty years of age and looking like a bunch of semi-tamed Celtic warriors on their day off. John did not hide behind me at all, and I still did not smirk.

Much.

“Ross, Roderick and Rourke”, I smiled. “Thank you for coming, gentlemen.”

John looked at me curiously but now was not the time to explain things. Matters would become clear soon enough. I went up the steps and knocked at the door. It was opened by a very dishevelled but dressed Sergeant Smith, who looked curiously (and dazedly) at our little party.

“Mr. Holmes?” he asked.

A much taller and larger figure appeared behind him. Mr. Fraser Macdonald, looming over his lover and looking first at me and then at the three gentlemen behind me. He visibly gulped at the sight of them.

“There was never going to be an easy way to do this”, I said, “so in the words of John's coulrophobic brother I feel that it is better to rip the plaster straight off. May we go inside please, gentlemen?”

Sergeant Smith looked curiously at his suddenly pale lover but led the way to the main room. It was quite large, but even so it seemed filled with the three newcomers who sat next to each other on the couch.

“What is happening?” Sergeant Smith asked, sitting almost on top of his lover. The latter wrapped a beefy arm around him, clearly nervous at developments.

“You asked me to look into why Mr. Macdonald here was apparently keeping something from you”, I said.

“I do not keep things from Chas”, the larger man said gruffly. “I certainly kept nothing from him last night. Three times!”

The hawk-faced younger man blushed. All three newcomers sniggered.

“But you did keep a certain piece of your past from him”, I said. “To be fair, you yourself did not become aware of it until last month when certain events necessitated a hurried trip to the Scottish March.”

Sergeant Smith paled.

“Be strong”, I said comfortingly. “It is not what you think. Mr. Macdonald?”

The huge man sighed – I noted that he kept his lover very firmly in place, something that the sergeant seemed more than happy with from the way he leaned into his lover and looked adoringly at him – and nodded.

“I am sorry, Chas”, he said. “It is not an easy tale to tell.”

“I love you”, Sergeant Smith said simply. “Go on.”

(There may have been more than one manly sniff at that point, at least one of which came from a certain medical scribe. I myself coughed for no particular reason).

“When I started out in the force”, Mr. Macdonald began, “it was under a sergeant here. Alan Macdonald, no relation. It was his nobility of character which drew me to him although he was married so.... well.”

I felt even sorrier for the poor fellow. Having been forced into an unhappy marriage after that; at least he had his true love now.

“Alan was married to a shrew called Miss Ambrosia Rudely”, Mr. Macdonald went on. “Like me it was an arranged marriage; I cannot call her a lady for she was none, not by a country mile. It was a terrible match and I do not know how they managed to have three sons; Ross and the twins here.”

Sergeant Smith looked across at the three other visitors. They really did look like the former inspector's sons, I thought but wisely did not say.

“Alan's wife went and left him for a Russian businessman, going to the fellow's country”, the former inspector said. “A good riddance all told, but Alan was never the same again. He moved to Peebles with the boys and lived with his sister Petronella who helped raise them. Then a month ago I got a letter from her. Alan was dying and wanted desperately to see me. I had to go.”

“Of course you did”, Sergeant Smith said, somehow wrapping his lover even more tightly around him. “Go on, my love.”

The former inspector took a deep breath and looked across at the three red-heads. Mr. Ross Macdonald spoke up.

“I was dumb enough to get drunk at a party with a girl who..... well, she knew what she wanted”, he said awkwardly. “I did not even know until nine months later when her parents came round and told me that she had died in childbirth and they wanted nothing to do with, in their words, 'my bastard spawn'.”

Mr. Rourke Macdonald nudged him.

“Oh yes”, Mr. Ross Macdonald said. “Our father was ailing even then so I said that he should name the bairn; the boy's grandparents had not even bothered with that. So he named him for someone he had always admired for their honesty and strength of character. He is Fraser Macdonald.”

The former inspector whimpered and somehow pulled his lover even closer. We waited for him to speak.

“I met Alan and the boys”, he said at last, his voice still a little unsteady. “He.... he said that if only things had been different.... well. You see, Ross was not yet twenty-one and Alan had an elder sister Drusilla – he always called her The Dragon – with enough connections and cash to blow us out of court and take the bairn.”

“There was only one thing to be done. Lucky for us Petronella's husband Pat was a lawyer so he was able to sort things out proper; I formally adopted the boys there and then. Alan wanted to come down to his old stamping-ground one more time but the journey was too much for him. I was with him at the end and..... it was horrible!”

He was clearly finding this very difficult. He shuddered as Sergeant Smith reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips. I wondered that the younger man could breathe what with how tightly he was being held.

“You did the right thing, my love”, he said. “As always. But why did you not confide in me?” 

“Mr. Macdonald did rather more than just visit his suddenly-acquired family”, I said. “He helped them acquire a house in Maryport into which they are currently moving.”

“Because you wanted them near”, Sergeant Smith guessed. “I still do not see why you did not tell me, Fray. I would have welcomed them here; surely you knew that?”

Mr. Ross Macdonald spoke up.

“Father knew that we would benefit from being together”, he said. “We do work as a team.”

“What do you do?” Sergeant Smith asked. Mr. Ross Macdonald grinned.

“We are all in the service”, the other man said. “And we work in the molly-house down there. The Triple Tartan Tormentors.”

Mr. Smith looked at him and his brothers in horror.

“But you cannot all be.... I mean....”

“And we love our dear old dad”, Mr. Rourke Macdonald spoke up.

“Not so much of the old, Rourke”, his father grumbled.

“Which is why we wanted to make sure that he has the best”, Mr. Roderick Macdonald said, looking pointedly at Sergeant Smith. “Mr. Holmes told us a lot of what has happened to him and we want him to be happy.”

“I am happy”, his father said, his arms still very firmly around Sergeant Smith. “Though just seeing you all here makes me feel my age, boys.”

The three of them all sniggered.

“We had better leave you all”, I smiled. “This molly-house is in Maryport, you said?”

There was an angry growl from someone nearby, even if said someone was not yet fully capable of complicated movements yet.

“We do”, Mr. Ross Macdonald said, smiling lasciviously. “And we owe you a huge debt of thanks for this, Mr. Holmes. _Anything_ that we can do in return, just ask.”

Another angry growl. Time to go. We said out goodbyes and I led the way out.

“You had better not have been serious back there”, John grumbled. “Three of them. Honestly!”

“Four including the ever-energetic inspector”, I said innocently. “I would wager that they all look even more attractive in their kilts. Perhaps in our next trip North of the Border we might look into purchasing some for ourselves?”

He was suddenly having difficulty in breathing. 

“And as we both have some Scots blood we would of course have to wear nothing underneath them”, I added slyly.

The breathing became even more ragged.

“Which is a coincidence”, I said smugly, “because I am not wearing any underwear right now!”

He was already racing ahead of me back to our hotel, with only the occasional whine at the discomfort.

֍

We did indeed spend two more days on the Cumberland Coast, during which we managed several Highland Flings despite being the wrong side of the Border. 

The following week we had a letter from Sergeant Smith. Apparently his lover had had his sons round and they had all..... well, that remark about four consecutive rounds of Cumberland sausage was quite uncalled for, I felt. And Sergeant Smith did concede that his lover (and his lover's sons!) had had the consideration to do this to him on a Saturday so the wrecked sergeant had had the Sabbath to recover. Even so walking to work on the Monday had been utter agony and certain people in the county constabulary really could tone down the smirking a bit. 

I told John that I quite agreed. Smirking was a Bad Thing. I had no idea why he rolled his eyes like that.

֍


End file.
